


into the dark

by courfeyrock



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, i can't believe victor hugo left out this scene... wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:11:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9129877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courfeyrock/pseuds/courfeyrock
Summary: For the first time, Enjolras does not turn Grantaire away.





	

Grantaire peers through the doorway of the Musain. It looks different in the darkness; the flames of the revolution don’t burn so brightly at night. Enjolras sits at his usual table, though it is unnerving to see him there alone, without Courfeyrac and Combeferre so inseparably pressed to his sides. Grantaire takes a step inside and Enjolras whips around to face him. Grantaire shuffles nervously, panic flaring through him in spite of himself. But for the first time, Enjolras does not turn Grantaire away. He simply nods in his direction.

Grantaire isn’t sure what to do; he didn’t expect to get this far. He stands glued to his spot, until Enjolras raises an eyebrow at him and speaks.

“What are you here for?” he asks, the usual note of disdain in his voice.

“I just wanted to talk to you, Apollo,” he says gently. “Before… you know.” 

Enjolras cocks his head, his flower petal-esque lips opening and closing several times before he finds something to say.

“Seeking reassurance?” Enjolras asks apprehensively.

“Of course not,” Grantaire scoffs. “I wouldn’t believe a word of it.”

Enjolras produces a small smile at that, which Grantaire considers a victory.

“Of course. What did you want to talk to me about, then?”

“I don’t care. Anything, really.”

Grantaire has nothing left to lose. If Enjolras laughs in his face, spits abuse at him, sends him away — well, that’s nothing he hasn’t been through before. Besides, he’d rather be disgusted and rejected by Enjolras than spend what he assumes to be his last night alone, consumed by fear and grief.

Enjolras clearly did not expect this. “You may as well come in then,” he says. “There’s no use standing there stiffly like some stranger.”

As Grantaire walks towards Enjolras, he thinks of himself as Icarus flying into the sun. Who is _he_ , lowly scum, to be sucking up what may be his Apollo’s last night, stealing it for himself? Sitting down next to Enjolras, Grantaire begins to regret coming to the Musain and not just drinking himself to sleep in accordance with his usual routine. 

“This may surprise you,” Enjolras begins, snapping Grantaire into attention. “But I am glad to have some company tonight.”

“That does surprise me,” Grantaire replies. “Especially that you think of me as worthy company.”

“Do not be too presumptuous, Grantaire. I never said that I thought of you as such,” Enjolras says, a punch to Grantaire’s gut. He should have known. Enjolras hates him, has always hated him. He —

“That was a joke!” Enjolras exclaims. “You look like a freshly kicked animal.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, trying to piece everything together in his head. Enjolras… _doesn’t_ hate him?

Enjolras tucks a golden curl behind his ear. “No need for apologies.” He reaches out and places his hand over Grantaire’s. “Look, I know that I have been harsh towards you. But I bear no ill will towards you. I have just had to condemn everything that opposed the revolution. And you have loudly, vehemently opposed the revolution.” Enjolras tilts his head to the side, his icy blue eyes piercing Grantaire’s. “Yet you are here. You are always here.”

For a moment, Grantaire cannot respond; he is too focused on the warmth of Enjolras’s hand over his. He wants to grasp on as tightly as he can, to toy with his slim fingers, to — no. He mustn't get carried away.

“Of course I stick around,” Grantaire says. “My friends are here.” He hesitates. “You… are here.”

“But you do not believe!” Enjolras says, pulling his hand away and using it to gesticulate. “You have never agreed with a word I have said in support of the cause! If you cared about us, about _me_ , why do you so constantly attempt to tear us down, to destroy what is dearest to us?”

“It is only because I care about you that I argue with you! Forgive me, Apollo, but I do not wish to see you shot dead in the streets because you could not see beyond the glory of ‘the cause,’ as you so love to call it.”

Enjolras swallows, an all too familiar rage burning in his eyes. He opens his mouth, and Grantaire braces himself, expecting to be yelled at. But Enjolras only whispers: “Do not call me Apollo. I am not a God. If I was, you would not have to worry about watching me die, which I was not aware that you did.”

“Of course I worry!” says Grantaire. “You’re going to kill yourself, and you think that I am the suicidal one!”

“I am not going to kill myself, Grantaire,” Enjolras says, his voice a hint too soft to be convincing. “The people will rise. You must have faith in them.”

“I _know_ the people, Enjolras! They are angry, yes, but above all, they are afraid. Most are not as brave as you are, Enjolras. And I do not mean that as flattery.”

“You are,” Enjolras replies.

“I am… what?”

“You are as brave as me, if not braver. You will stand with us tomorrow, for a cause you do not believe in, believing that you are going to die. Why? None of your friends will resent you if you do not join us. Even I will not resent you. You have not convinced us to stay home; you will not convince us to stay home. So why?”

Grantaire does not want to answer. “I have told you why before, though I doubt you were listening.” 

“I… I cannot recall….” 

“I may not believe in the cause, Enjolras, but I believe in you.”

Enjolras closes the gap across the table and presses their lips together, grasping at Grantaire’s hair with one of his hands and interlacing their fingers with the other. Grantaire is stiff at first, paralyzed with disbelief, but quickly falls into a rhythm with Enjolras. He has imagined this so many times; now he does not have to imagine. When they break away, Enjolras’s already girlish face is tinged with pink.

“You look surprised,” Enjolras pants, his face mere inches away from Grantaire’s. “I have wished to kiss you for ages, but I could not distract myself. And I did not know if you… But you are here. You came to see me. I would regret to go to my death, as admittedly, I may, without”

Grantaire gathers himself before speaking. He cannot believe that Enjolras, that his _God_ , had wanted to… _kiss_ him. “Enjolras… You are… You are beautiful.” It is all Grantaire can bring himself to say, though he winces at himself as he says it.

Enjolras places his hand on Grantaire’s scruffy cheek. “As are you,” he says, and Grantaire feels a dizzying warmth uncurl in the pit of his stomach.

“Enjolras,” he begins, never tiring of saying his name. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you afraid?” Grantaire asks. It seems as though he is not, but Grantaire cannot believe that. Every human fears death and Enjolras, as he has only recently proven, is painfully human. 

Enjolras sucks in a stream of air. “Yes,” he breathes out. “I should not be. I should be infallible in my willingness to die for France but I… I cannot escape this fear.”

Grantaire nods. “You must not feel guilty for this. And I must say this, you will disagree but I must… You do not have to die. It is not too late to —”

“I have to do this, Grantaire. You know I have to. I regret that I may not live to see more days with you… And I regret that I did not impress my feelings upon you sooner, but who knows? We must have faith. We may live to see each other’s hair turn silver.”

Grantaire laughs, though he knows they will not. “Silver hair would suit you.”

Enjolras does not laugh, and his lips purse tightly together, intensity written across his face.

“I love you, R.”

Grantaire melts.

“I love you, Apollo,” he says, bringing their lips together again.

They burn down the night in case it is their last, their hands clasped together in the most sacred kind of promise.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed the fic!!!! if you did or have any prompts or suggestions or whatever lmk!!!!!! i'm so into les mis rn. i feel like my 13 year old self again <3


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